


Something About Us

by robotrolecall



Category: Frasier - Fandom
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Frasier can be lovable and tender he’s just too pretentious to show it, Frasier is a lot more likable in here than he is in canon sorry, Hurt/Comfort, Love Languages, M/M, Mutual Pining, Niles Crane/Daphne Moon (mentioned), Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22626067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotrolecall/pseuds/robotrolecall
Summary: Frasier Crane had said “You don’t let friends isolate themselves from people that are important to them,” with the goal of checking in on his abruptly reclusive friend.The rest is history.Fic title comes from the song by Daft Punk.MAJOR EDIT: Céci is my self insert, and between the time I wrote this & now, I have come out as a trans man. So Céci is now Cécil :)
Relationships: Frasier Crane/Cécil Fernandez, Frasier Crane/Original Character
Kudos: 5





	1. The Disappearance of Cécil Fernandez

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is the first time I’ve written a self-insert story in a matter of years! 
> 
> I’m a lot less ashamed than I thought I would be working on this story. Take this as an encouragement to draw or write whatever self-insert content that’s been kept in the archives of your brain. 
> 
> I tried very hard to make the dialogue of the characters as in-character as possible, so I hope I did a good job! ^^

Within the confines of the Crane residence, shared by the prestigious Dr. Frasier Crane, his father Martin, and Martin’s physical therapist, Daphne, the retired cop rested atop his tattered, packing taped-laden recliner sipping an ice-cold can of Ballantine’s. It was a usual evening for him—spending the night watching sports or an old film—in this instance, though, he was watching highlights from a Yankees game. His feisty Jack Russell, Eddie, trotted out of Martin’s room, the familiar sound of his collar jingling bringing a smile to Martin’s face. Without having to say a word, Eddie jumped onto his owner’s lap, accompanying him as he reminisced on the baseball team’s highs and lows. 

This period of opulence and zen was unfortunately disrupted by the front door clicking open, interrupting Martin’s train of thought with an alarmingly heavy footstep, the kind of step someone would take if they received bad news or were deep in thought. Entering the apartment was Frasier, holding his beige suit jacket in his arms. 

“Dad,” Frasier queried, hanging his jacket up on the adjacent coat rack with urgency. “have you seen Daphne at all today?” He maneuvered his way to pour himself a glass of sherry. 

“She’s been with Niles all day. I heard him talk about taking her on a shopping spree.”

“Guess they won’t be back anytime soon.” Frasier grumbled, taking a seat on the couch with his petite glass of liquor in hand. While he initially felt envious of Niles once he started dating Daphne, he was overall happy that his brother was in a healthy, fulfilling relationship. He downed the sherry like a shot of vodka, without wincing a bit.

“Jesus, Fras, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Martin exclaimed. “What’s the matter?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from Cécil during this whole week. I asked for Daphne because I thought she would know of his whereabouts. They are close friends, remember?” He nervously tapped his fingers on the coffee table. 

“You come down to ask me about Cécil when you can just visit him next door?” His eyes widened at his son’s lapse of reason. “I don’t believe it!” He shook his head disappointingly as he took another swig of his cheap beer. 

“I’m aware of that, and I’d like to think my common sense is pretty decent!” Frasier retorted. He was too concerned for Cécil’s well-being than to be offended by Martin’s comment. “I don’t want to disturb him, is all. I know that while he is quite the social butterfly, he spends an extended time alone to ‘recharge his batteries.’” 

“Why not give him a phone call? He’ll appreciate the concern.”

“After a day or two, he’s usually back to show us his art, have dinner, or bake with Daphne. But now it’s Thursday, and he hasn’t given me a phone call or even popped into say hello…” The radio psychiatrist rubbed his temples with his left hand. Martin’s helpful suggestion seemed to enter Frasier’s left ear and exit out the other. He was always a bit stubborn. 

“Cécil stopped by to drop off some goodies, actually. While you and Niles had dinner Tuesday night, he brought some pumpkin bread and chocolate chip walnut cookies the size of _hockey pucks!_ ”

Martin’s nonchalant remark only made Frasier more distressed. He watched Eddie hop off his father’s lap as Martin reached for his cane, making his nightly pilgrimage to the kitchen. 

_“And he never told me?”_ Frasier asked in a flabbergasted whisper. 

“He looked like he was in a rush. I don’t blame him, with all the art he’s doing, though. Quite the busy bee!” Martin’s voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen.

“Even when he’s busy with his commissions, he always made the time to go on a coffee run with me during his breaks! This is… unlike him.” Frasier was virtually talking to himself, oblivious to Martin’s absence in the living room. As he walked back to refill his glass with more sherry, he stopped in his tracks. A feeling of dread overtook his body.

_“Oh, dear God.”_

“Are you out of sherry again?” Martin emerged from the kitchen with a plateful of cookies. 

“I think I figured out why Cécil’s been absent.” Frasier ignored his father’s snarky comment. 

“Cécil has obsessive-compulsive disorder. He’s brought it up before, many times actually.”

“Where the hell is this going, Fras? Just ‘cause you’re a psychiatrist, it doesn’t mean you can psychoanalyze your friends twenty-four seven.” Martin rolled his eyes. 

“Where I am going with this is that _this has happened already._ Cécil’s obsessive-compulsive episodes cause him to isolate himself from just about _everyone._ The first time this occurred, Roz called me saying he was at her apartment in absolute hysterics. Second time around, he hid in Daphne’s room during a dinner party I was hosting. These were about a year apart.” 

_It’s really been two and a half years since Céci and I became friends, huh?_ Frasier thought to himself. 

“What did you do as he was having his obsessive-compulsive... whatevers? Don’t tell me you just left him there.” He motioned the plate of cookies to Frasier, to which his perturbed son plucked the smallest one. 

“I consoled him in _both_ instances. I’m absolutely convinced that he’s going through an OCD spell once again.” The psychiatrist was confident in his deduction. 

“What if he wants to deal with this on his own? He _does_ see his own therapist weekly, you know.”

“I know that, but I think checking up on him would be something he’d appreciate a lot. He’s done the same for me and I care about him deeply.” Frasier took a bite of the soft cookie, walking to his bedroom to settle in and wash up for the night. Before walking down the hallway, he turned his head to look at Martin. “You don’t let friends isolate themselves from people that are important to them.”

“Guess that means you’re gonna stop by his place tonight, huh?” 


	2. Call Me, I’ll Be Anything You Need

At the same time of Frasier’s proposal, freelance artist Cécil Fernandez, bundled under his weighted blanket and attempting to unwind on his colorful Memphis couch, hovered his trembling right hand over his Garfield house phone. He wore nothing but an old, oversized Cedar Point tee and dingy lounge pants with holes at the knees. His fingers were sore and inflamed from compulsively chewing on his nails, dried blood on the cuticles of his thumb and index finger. His eyes darted to the digital clock next to the phone. Nine thirty in the evening, it read in its pea soup green glow. 

He cupped his mouth with his left hand on the brink of tears, terrified that someone could hear the slightest whimper. His miniature American Eskimo Dog, Snowball, slept peacefully in her large orthopedic dog bed. Cécil wished in that very moment he was in Snowball’s shoes: resting without a single worry in his mind. For the past forty five minutes, he attempted the breathing exercises his therapist suggested with lackluster results. His heart pounded, deafening his ears in a symphony of a thousand or more drums. All that seemed to repeat in his head was the conversation he had in his apartment’s dining room with Daphne and Roz Doyle, Frasier’s producer at KACL, Sunday night. 

* * *

_“You have a crush on_ Frasier?” _Roz exclaimed loudly. Cécil quickly put his index finger up to her mouth, a frantic look plastered on her face._

_“Quiet, Roz!” He_ _hissed. “I don’t know how thick the walls are.”_

_The radio producer took a heaping gulp of wine from her glass. “It’s just out of left field! I thought he’d be the last guy you’d be into.” She slammed it onto the table, causing some of the off white liquid to swish around the rim of the glass._

_“I’m not entirely surprised that Cécil has feelings for Dr. Crane,” said Daphne, who was sitting across from her friend._

_Cécil and Roz exchanged a quick glance, absolutely baffled at Daphne’s uninhibitedness._

_“How the hell have you known this whole time? I haven’t told anybody until_ today!” _The overwhelmed artist interrogated. He had a death grip on his cup full of plain chocolate milk—a drink he often confided in when stressed._

_“Yeah, what makes you so sure?”_

_“Nobody has looked at Frasier the way he,” Martin’s personal assistant pointed to Cécil. “looks at him.”_

_“Not even Lilith?” He peeped, his face becoming progressively flushed._

_“Not unless you’re counting looks of contempt.” A caterwaul of laughter arose between Daphne and Roz._

_“This is no laughing matter, you two!” Cécil interjected. “I don’t know what to do about this. Why did I have to fall in love with_ him, _of all people?” He shamefully buried his face in his hands._

_“I was the same way when I fell in love with Niles.” Daphne consoled._

_“And look where that led her! She’s been happily dating Niles after telling him how she felt.” Roz placed a comforting hand on Cécil’s shoulder. The freelancer was eased by Roz’s comfort and looked back up at his friends._

_“You shouldn’t do what I had done, though. Don’t end up leaving your fiancé at the altar.” Daphne warned. “It was a huge sacrifice that I made in order to be happy.”_

_Cécil nodded intently._

_“Luckily in your situation, you can start your potential relationship with Dr. Crane on a much higher note.”_

_“Thank you, Daphne.” The Englishwoman’s solid advice gave him a smidgen of optimism. He twiddled his thumbs aimlessly, hesitant to ask Roz what was to him, a vital question that could determine where he would go next. “Roz… has Frasier talked about being interested in anyone? Has he mentioned it at the radio station or to his brother?” There was a brief moment of silence as Roz’s eyes looked upward, pondering and figuring out an answer to her lovestruck friend’s question._

_“I can say with confidence that_ no, _he hasn’t mentioned being interested in anyone.” She announced with complete honesty._

 _Cécil froze, his_ _mouth slightly open in shock._ “Oh, my God.” _A nervous laugh rumbled his throat. “I… I guess I have a chance, then?”_

_“Don’t psych yourself out, Fernandez!” Roz gave Cécil a friendly punch to his shoulder. “The ball’s in your court.”_

* * *

Roz’s words to Cécil haunted him as he teetered on the decision of impulsively calling Frasier or staying up all night a nervous wreck. He was now grappling the orange phone in his sweaty palm. All he had to do was press the top left button in the section of the phone meant for speed-dialing. He felt her stomach drop realizing that the only person he has on speed dial was _him._

 _“God dammit!”_ He swore loudly between his digits, immediately regretting it, wincing. He sucked in a deep breath within her teeth. At that moment, Cécil Fernandez determined he had nothing to lose. Craning his neck away from the quirky Garfield phone and gluing his eyes shut, he lifted up the phone and pushed the speed dial button. The trilling of the phone as he waited for a response with bated breath made the blood in his veins run cold. He waited for what felt like minutes until the sound of the line being picked up temporarily soothed him. He swallowed, trying not to break down in tears. 

“...Frasier?” His voice warbled. “Are you there? I… I need to talk to you about something.” 


	3. The Sweetest Memories

Returning to the Crane household, Frasier slipped into an outfit commonly saved for daily jogs and the occasional game of squash with Niles: a solid colored tee shirt with sweatpants. Like Cécil, his outfit was meant for sleeping and lazing about in his humble abode. Before putting on his slippers in order to stop by his close friend’s apartment, the house phone’s tune echoed down the hall. Frasier, while a bit confused, approached the phone in the empty, quiet living room. Martin had gone to sleep early because he had plans with Duke, his best friend, the next day. Frasier pondered who could be calling at this hour—nine thirty. Niles had mentioned that aside from taking Daphne shopping, she would be spending the night at his apartment as well. Could it have been Roz, potentially having some guy troubles or to ask him to babysit Alice? He picked up the phone like clockwork. Before getting a single word out, he heard the panicked greeting of Cécil. 

“...Frasier? Are you there? I… I need to talk to you about something.” A feeling of dread overtook him realizing that his suspicions were correct. Based on his judgment, Cécil was in fact having an obsessive-compulsive episode. “The door’s unlocked.” He added, rather secretively. 

“I’ll be right there, don’t worry.” He answered quickly, hanging up the phone with vigor. He virtually ran to the door, ignoring that he had nothing on his feet but socks. The front door to his residency slammed shut as he ended up at the front door of Cécil’s apartment. Afraid of coming off too strongly, he waited a few seconds before gingerly opening the door, turning the knob slowly and quietly. Now within Cécil’s quarters, he quietly locked the door shut. All he could do was stare in bewilderment.

“Frasier, I—“ he began, feeling guilty for interrupting his evening. He observed him walking closer to him and pried his way underneath his weighted blanket. 

“Don’t even say a _word_ of apology, Céci,” he said firmly, taking a seat next to his troubled neighbor. He couldn’t help but feel warm upon hearing Frasier call him by his nickname. Despite being close to his family, as well as Roz, no one called her ‘Céci’ but him. He moved himself back to a sitting position. “I came here as fast as I could. I don’t think I’ve ever left my apartment in such a hurry!” 

“Forty-five seconds,” he said, impressed. “A new record.” 

“I see you’ve been putting the weighted blanket I got you for Christmas to good use,” he commented awkwardly as he attempted to engage in small talk. He observed Cécil’s body language, taking note of his distance from him as well as the repetitive shaking of his left leg comparable to a well-oiled machine. He paid attention to how his arms were under the blanket, making his stomach queasy as he wondered if his concerns earlier really _did_ have substance. 

“Are you kidding? I would wear it if I could.” There was a feigned enthusiasm in his voice. He made brief eye contact with Frasier, but moved away. From the view he got of him, he had a mild frown upon his face. 

Silence fell upon the apartment once more. The two adults both had things to say as a feeling of malaise spread through the air. 

“Céci,” he requested gently. “Please give me your hand.” His left arm slowly emerged as it extended cautiously. His body was so tense that his wrist could not go limp. He felt the warmth of Frasier’s hand overwhelm him with comfort instead of fear. “My goodness, you’ve bitten your nails straight to the bone…”

An inaudible gasp from Frasier startled Cécil. He saw the deep red splotches around his fingers. His condition was worse than he imagined. 

“Where do you keep your peroxide?”

“Frasier, you don’t have to do this. I’m fine.” He fibbed. 

“Céci, you’re obviously not fine if you called me sounding like you were on the verge of _tears_.” While he knew he was right, Cécil could only blankly stare at him in a complete loss of words. “Whether you called me or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I am deeply worried about you. That’s why I’m here, after all.” 

Frasier checking on him was something considerably in-character for him, but surprised him nonetheless. It brought a sense of comfort knowing that he thought of him. The extent of how much, or what ways Frasier thought of him, was unknown. He lightly held Frasier’s hand, hoping to God he wouldn’t grow suspicious. A grin slowly appeared on his face as he exhaled suddenly in light amusement. “Glad I could cheer you up a bit.”

“The peroxide is in the medicine cabinet.” He pointed to her kitchen, which had lustrous granite countertops, a chef’s grade stovetop, a double oven so clean it was like new, a stainless steel fridge with no fingerprints in sight, and jet black cabinets and drawers. “It’s next to the fridge.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Cécile clutched his dominant hand into a fist and repeatedly punched a pillow to the left of him, frustrated at herself from holding the radio host’s hand and getting confirmation that he noticed it. His anxiety clawed at his stomach as he anticipated Frasier to come back with a pocketful of questions. “Christ…” he muttered. He heard Frasier’s footsteps become more audible, signaling his return to the living room. 

“There’s not much peroxide left, but it should do for now.” he said, pouring a few droplets onto a fluffy, white cotton ball.

“Stuff like this… happens to me often, unfortunately.” Cécil scratched his neck, looking downwards glumly. Frasier once again took his right hand, disinfecting each individual nail and cleaning off the dried blood. He was incredibly careful, making sure his wounds were well-kept. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Céci. This is just one of the… _‘ugly’_ parts of having OCD—the behaviors the average person doesn’t see.” He explained. There was a certain tenderness to how he cleaned Cécil’s nails. It was with enough pressure to clean off the blood, but was done in a way where his jagged, bitten fingernails wouldn’t get caught on the cotton. It made all the pent up tension in his hand wither away. “It’s a compulsion. And compulsions essentially are habits that obsessive-compulsive people have that provides comfort; a sense of security.” After finishing the right hand, he motioned Cécil to put down his left hand, which noticeably was in worse condition. 

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but my mom always got on my ass for biting my nails when I was a kid. She said I could get an infection from it.”

“Is that why you always carry hand sanitizer in your purse?” Frasier asked inquisitively, finishing up cleaning his pinky finger. He placed the dirtied cotton balls on the coffee table and let go of his hand. 

“Shockingly, no.” He snickered in amusement. “I’m pretty good with not biting my nails in public. It’s only when I’m… alone with my thoughts that it becomes an issue.” He quietly observed his hands, surprised at how they became less swollen. 

Digesting Cécil’s remark, Frasier bobbed his head. “I see.”

“...See what?” He asked quickly, resting his chin on his palms as he tried to fake a ‘casual’ demeanor. 

“I’m here to talk to you because since Monday, you haven’t visited as frequently as you do. I just wanted to know how you were doing, and if I could be of any help.” 

_“Oh.”_ Cécil’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t having an OCD flareup, if that’s what you were going to say next.” He sensed that Frasier was unconvinced by his explanation by the mere look of his daunting, blue eyes and the wrinkle of his brow. 

“I’m really thankful that you reached out and took care of my nail-biting situation, though. The reason why I called you here was,” he halted, feeling himself perspiring as the air around her grew dense and hard to breathe. “Was because I was I’ve been thinking about the state of our friendship.”

He hauled the weighted blanket off himself and tossed it on the floor, registering the what the hell he roped himself into. Frasier leaned forward, waiting for the tense man to explain himself. 

“I did a lot of thinking and…” he twirled a lock of his curly, brown hair. He needed to think of a lie, _fast_.

“I feel like our friendship hasn’t been healthy.” Cécil announced slowly. Surely this was a convincing white lie, as it was in some truth. Cécil always worried in the back of his mind his friendship with Frasier was one-sided or dependent, but he was always able to reassure herself. 

Frasier’s hand moved to his cheek, tapping his face lightly. “Could you… explain why you feel that way?” His voice was low and confused. 

“I just feel like I frequently vent to you about having OCD, and we spend less time enjoying ourselves and more on… life problems and complaining. I’ve treated you like a therapist more than a friend.” Feeling like he sounded ridiculous, he further elaborated. “I-I mean,” he stammered. “You _are_ a therapist, but friendships that are based on venting rarely work and are emotionally draining. You don’t deserve that from me, Fras. I haven’t been a good friend to you, and I apologize.” A weight of guilt plagued his conscience, fearing that he hurt him. He turned his body to face Cécil, slowly moving his arm to place on his shoulder. 

“Céci, look at me.” 

He sluggishly moved his head to face him. 

“I’ve _never_ looked at our friendship as unhealthy in any way.” He reaffirmed. 

“You really think so?”

“Of course! We respect the boundaries that we’ve established and we communicate our feelings directly and maturely.” 

“Yeah… you’re right.” 

“I came to you on my own accord because I wanted to help. And when I looked to you for input on something, I always asked if you had the time to.” Frasier further elucidated. “That is fundamentally different than just dumping your problems unwarranted.”

“I think I’m just worried about being a burden on you.” Cécil admitted; a probable cause to why he waited so long to confess to Frasier in the first place.

“You never have to worry about that, Céci. I’ve always seen you as my equal.” 

“You really think so?” Cécil queried, timidly covering his mouth with his hand. It was the biggest compliment he ever received. Dr. Frasier Crane, notable psychiatrist and radio personality, viewing him as his equal, perplexed him. 

“When I meant I see you as my equal, I meant that I’ve always felt like we’re on the same page, not that I previously saw you as inferior to me.” He flinched, feeling as though he made what he said worse. “Ignore the last part,” he pursed his lips. “I apologize for the confusion. I’ve never seen you as inferior to me, either.”

“No, no, I understood what you meant and I didn’t even interpret what you said with any negative connotations. But… _me?”_

“You don’t hear me say that to just anyone, Céci.” 

“Jeez… That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me. Thanks for everything.” His nervous air faded away, as it usually did whenever he spent time with Frasier. 

“No need to thank me, it’s what friends are for. However,” he paused. “There is… one thing I meant to discuss with you. I hope it’s not poor timing to bring it up.” 

Cécil felt his stomach instantly drop.

“W-what is it, Fras?” 

“I have a feeling that you called me over for a completely different reason.” He answered straightforwardly. 

He tensed up instantaneously. “You’re right,” he admitted, frowning. I’m sor—“ His sentence was cut short by Frasier putting his pointer finger on Cécil’s lips. 

“No apologies here, remember?” He recalled, taking his finger off her mouth. “It’s normal for people to divert from what they want to discuss with someone, especially if it’s of great importance.”

“I mean, what I told you wasn’t _entirely_ a diversion. It was a legitimate worry I had, but it wasn’t a pressing matter.” 

“I can tell that you needed reassurance, though.”

Frasier paused mid-sentence, a mildly frightened look appearing on Cécil’s face.

“ _Not_ the obsessive-compulsive kind, Céci!” He quipped. 

“Well, duh!” The two broke out in a raucous of laughter. 

“Getting back on topic,” Frasier cleared his throat. “I’ve noticed a couple of your… mannerisms since we became friends. Two and a half years really went by, haven’t they?”

“Really?” Cécil started to internally panic. He then reminded herself that Frasier is a psychiatrist, so of _course_ he analyzed his friends’ behaviors. “Tell me about them! I… also feel like we’ve been friends much longer.” He slowly moved herself closer to Frasier, who was relaxing on the couch, facing forward. 

“Alright, I’ll start with this one first. While you’ve always been incredibly talkative, especially around my family, your attention usually gravitates to me when I arrive. In group conversations, you focus on me for the most part or we end up having a one-on-one conversation. That’s usually how our best conversations came to fruition, and I don’t mind at all.” 

“Of course! Remember that time we watched TV on your couch?” Cécil recollected fondly. “I was in nothing but pajama shorts and a tee shirt, freezing my _ass_ off.”

“And we bickered about the heat!” Frasier guffawed. “I couldn’t stand seeing you become an ice cube, so I bundled you up under my blanket.” 

“I was too stubborn to admit I was cold, so I really appreciated that.” He remembered when he was beside Frasier on his apartment’s couch, and the comfort he felt relaxing beside him. The fluffy blanket smelled like his Versace L’homme cologne—warm, fragrant, with notes of basil and citrus. “I also remember—“ he quickly cupped his hands over his mouth, fearful that if he said any more, he would be reveal his true feelings. 

“Are you alright, Céci?” asked Frasier. “Whatever you were going to say, I’m positive it was nothing embarrassing or inappropriate.” 

He uncovered his maw and took a deep breath. “I… remember falling asleep beside you that night. I woke up early the next morning and you were right next to me.” Frasier’s eyes suddenly moved away from Cécil’s, ashamed. He was mortified that he made him uncomfortable or afraid. 

“You fell asleep on my shoulder, and you looked so comfortable and peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I stayed.” Frasier shyly fidgeted his hand. 

“I think that’s really sweet, Fras.” He reached for Frasier’s hand and tapped it comfortingly. “They wouldn’t have suspected a thing. Your dad would've thought that I stopped by for a cup of coffee before getting to work!” 

“You’re absolutely right.”

“Is there anything else you’ve noticed about me?” 

“You’ve… given me so many gifts and presents. You gave me an absolutely _gorgeous_ landscape painting of the Seattle skyline done in oil paint, as well as the Super Nintendo you just… gave to me on a whim. It’s what led to me using _Mario Paint_ to compose music for fun.”

“I actually found it when I was packing my things to move from New York City to Seattle. I thought it was my way of giving you a keepsake from where I lived most of my life. I’m ecstatic you’re making the most out of it.”

“I didn’t know that, Céci!” Frasier declared amazedly. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to New York City. You go on about how great New York style cheesecake is, and speaking of, your six ounce chocolate chip cookies based off of the ones sold at Levain Bakery are to _die_ for!” 

“Well, as a native New Yorker, I can confirm that my version is almost identical to the ones sold at Levain Bakery. Ask my friends who still live there if you want a second opinion.” Cécil bragged. 

“I trust your word, as well as the various other treats you’ve made for me. I really enjoyed the pumpkin cheesecake you made on Thanksgiving, as well as the dark chocolate mousse. Using whipped egg whites instead of egg yolks is absolutely _genius._ It makes it incredibly airy and is absolutely refreshing! I’m getting hungry just talking about it…”

“I’m no professional baker, so I’m flattered that you enjoy it so much. I just worry that you may think it’s somehow… manipulative?”

Frasier raised his brow. “Why would it be?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “People sometimes do favors and expect something in return. I don’t expect anything in return when I bake things for you, or for your family, other than a _‘thank you’_ and _‘make this again.’_ ”

“Doing nice things for people you care about doesn’t make you a bad person at all, Céci. I, for one, think I deserve to treat you to something sweet, like crème brûlée.”

“Don’t you mean _Crane_ brûlée?” The hobby baker joshed. Frasier snickered at Cécil’s cheesy joke. 

“You’re an absolute riot, I swear.”

“It’s nice you think that I’m funny, but I’m just curious as to why you brought all this up. Reminiscing on our friendship is therapeutic in itself, but it clearly has a purpose in this situation.” Cécil’s tone was solemn. 

“Right.” 

Frasier’s humorous nature switched to a strongly contemplative one. “Céci, dear. What prompted me to mention some memories I have of you is that,” he closed his eyes, feeling his heart rate slightly spike. 

“I believe that you may have romantic feelings toward me.”

The fleetingly lively room went to a complete standstill. Discomfort ran through Cécil’s body as the impulse to exit the front door of his home to impulsively leave to God knows where taking full custody of his mind. He felt sick to his stomach seeing that he figured it out before he could even remotely utter the phrase _“I love you.”_ Cécil Fernandez had no other choice but to lay in the bed he somehow carefully yet recklessly made, and prepare for his friendship with Frasier to change permanently. 


	4. This Is It

Cécil tugged at his tee shirt, head facing downward as tears streamed down his eyes, his brown, curly hair concealing his face. He flipped his hair in an exhaustive effort to prevent it from being soaked in tears. “You… you make me feel at home, Fras. Which is pretty funny, I think.” He uttered a nervous laugh and sniffled, oblivious to Frasier budging himself closer to him. “You’re from Seattle. I’m from upstate New York. You once lived in Boston, which is a few hours from New York City, so that kind of counts?” He fanned his eyes in an attempt to ensure his crying wouldn't resume. 

“You’re just so… so warm and inviting. Our conversations last for hours and I feel like we still have so much to discuss. You make me laugh to the point where my stomach hurts and I’m in tears. You like to eat foie gras and caviar, and I like to eat medium-rare filet mignon. You’re overly critical of things and often make sarcastic quips. You’re stubborn and you don’t like to admit when you’re wrong.” Frasier wrapped his arm around Cécil’s waist, processing his declarations of love with full attention. 

“Despite your shortcomings, I can never stay mad at you or hate you. It only makes me appreciate you more because I’m stubborn, too. I have a strong moral compass like you, but maybe it’s exaggerated because of my OCD.” He tittered, using everything in his power to not break down again. The radio personality squeezed Cécil tightly, embracing him. He was reminded of when he fell asleep beside him at his apartment—the same event where Cécil was cold and didn’t want to be under a blanket. He remembered how he wanted to hold him in his arms while he rested on his shoulder. It killed him on the inside to sit next to him in his living room without taking his hand. What stopped him was he didn’t know if it was the right place, the right time, to do so.

“I love you, Frasier. If I gave you all the presents in the world, it wouldn’t be enough to show the extent of my adoration for you.” The high of his confession leveled off and blanketed him with nausea, his breath trembling with the quivering of his lip. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked plaintively. “I know you’ve been saying ‘no apologies’ since you’ve been here, but I just ruined _everything._ ”

“Céci, what makes you think that?” Frasier delicately inquired, letting go of his waist. The tearful Cécil craned his neck to observe him. Frasier moved his torso to face him, wiping the newly formed teardrops from his cheeks using his thumb.

He opened his mouth to answer, but was at a complete loss of words. With a lump in his throat, Cécil examined Frasier, whose mouth was agape. He could see the subtle tint of crimson dappling his face, his chest rising and falling with every profound breath, his crystal blue eyes staring intensely; yearning. 

He was absolutely smitten, and unlike Cécil, who declared his feelings with intense vigor, the proclamations he desperately wanted to divulge in dissipated. For a man whose lexicon is comparable to that of a poet, he was exceptionally reticent. He wanted to reveal to him that it was more than the night they slept on the couch that contributed to his feelings. He wanted to impart that it was hearing his cackle and slamming his fists on tables from amusement, his incredible focus and passion for his career, and the excitement he felt as he attentively listened to him talk about his former life in New York. It was _everything_ about him that he cherished, and he despised himself for being unable to recite the most captivating of sonnets for his dear Céci. 

Cécil, who couldn’t stomach the soundlessness in his apartment for another minute, swallowed heftily. “If you don’t feel the same way, just tell me.” He beseeched. 

While he anticipated his reply in suspense, he felt his left hand being tenderly stroked by Frasier’s right palm. Even the uncertainty that chipped away his very soul was quashed by the doctor’s gentle embrace. The familiar Versace L’homme enveloped him in a repose he exclusively felt when he was swaddled in Frasier’s plush eiderdown. A stray lock of hair obscured his view of Frasier, to which the talk radio host pushed behind his ear with a sensual swipe of his opposite hand. Shifting his hand to cup Cécil’s cheek, a chill ran down his spine as he felt his fingertips graze his skin. He wriggled his left digits, latching onto Frasier’s hand with conviction and ardor. Feeling Frasier’s pulse pounding in his wrist, Cécil surrendered into the weight of his chest as he entwined him in his arms, his lips linking with his amorously. The strong, emotive aroma of patchouli, sandalwood, and vanilla invigorated his spirit as he osculated in return. After what felt like minutes, they hesitantly parted to catch their breath. 

“Frasier, I…” he exhaled. “I see that you’re wearing the same cologne you had on when we watched _Citizen Kane._ It was on the blanket you lent to me.” He foolishly concealed his mouth with his hand, humiliated for commenting on his _musk_ of all things after their fateful kiss. 

“And I realized how much I want to stay with you.” He professed ardently. Cécil uncovered his face in complete awe of what he heard. 

“...Come again?” His mouth gaped, eyes darting left and right as he tried to make sense of the current state of affairs. 

“I adore you, my darling Céci.” Frasier planted a featherweight kiss onto his hand. His look of surprise unfolded into an elated, open grin as he joyfully hugged his romantic partner. Before letting go, he surprised him with a peck on the cheek, amusing him. 

“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“No, not really.” Cécil chortled. “I just can’t believe how _good_ you are at kissing!” 

“I would be more than happy to show you the ropes,” He purred sensuously, the edge of his lips curling in a smirk. Hearing Frasier speak in such a coquettish manner made Cécil blush profoundly.

“Wow.” He blinked, feeling himself perspire slightly. 

“Was that too much?” Frasier quickly inquired, a layer of panic in his inflection. 

“Not at all, Fras. I liked it… a lot.” 

“I’m pleased to have excited you, then.” 

“You’ll just have to show me another time.” He mischievously tapped his nose with the tip of his pointer finger. 

“I wasn’t aiming for that to happen _tonight,_ Céci!” He clarified, the lovers breaking into hysterics. “If I’m being honest, I really could go for a movie before bed.”

“Why don’t you spend the night here? I mean, not like _that_ , but you get what I mean. Hopefully.” Cécil offered, stumbling on his words. “I have that television in my bedroom that I barely use because I’m always in the living room or at your place.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Céci. I’ll let you pick what movie you want to watch. It’s only fair since I picked the movie last time, more specifically when we watched _Citizen Kane.”_ His boyfriend nodded his head with enthusiasm at his reasoning. “It would be a lot more comfortable to lay beside you on a bed, too…” he added bashfully. “As much I wanted to cradle you in my arms that evening, it wouldn’t have been what I envisioned due to the couch.” 

“Well, I hope you like _Back to the Future,_ Fras,” Cécil rubbed his nose against the psychiatrist’s cheek lovingly. “Because that’s what we’re going to watch while cuddling under a soft blanket.” He took Frasier’s hand as he got up from the loveseat, elevating him to follow him into his room. 

“That sounds perfect to me.” His eyes trailed to the slumbering dog as they took a few steps. “Can we bring Snowball?” While Frasier relatively disliked dogs, he was quite fond of Cécil’s half-pint pup. 

“He sleeps with me every night, so yes. You probably should sleep without sweatpants on, though.” He advised. 

“Why’s that? These pants are worn out, so I wouldn’t mind if they got Snowball’s fur all over them.” He quietly scooped the small, fuzzy dog into the crook of his elbow. “A little dog hair won’t stop me from hugging you from behind or holding you close to my chest.” He cooed. “Unless it’s Eddie’s hair. He’s due for a bath.” Cécil snorted at his jab against his father’s beloved pet.

“I think you’ll get sweaty wearing them to bed. You go to sleep with nothing but your boxers, anyway.” He playfully mocked his boyfriend’s sleeping habits. 

“And how would you know _that?”_ He retorted, playing along into their jests. The door to Cécil’s bedchamber closed shut as they prepared to get ready for what technically was their first date. 

What Cécil Fernandez and Dr. Frasier Crane perceived would be the worst nights of their lives, for exponentially different reasons, ultimately became the most significant night in regards to how they perceived one another. The revelation of their mutual feelings was cathartic and fulfilling. 

That evening, they would slumber in each other’s company, spirits alleviated of external stressors from work and family. The real challenge, or lack of, was to break the news. Little did Cécil know was that while Daphne, Roz, and Martin (who went off of complete intuition) were aware of her feelings for Frasier, they, including Niles, were clueless that _he_ was in love with _him_. Regardless of the reception to their newfound relationship, Cécil was in her home away from home, welcomed by a ragtag family who always had room for one more.

They were inseparable, their unyielding love and commitment for one another propelling them to succeed.


End file.
